Blades of the Banished - Robert Ryan Page 0,69

the enemy in a dance of death so furious, so strong in its onslaught that it made even the lethrin reel before him. Yet even as they parted they closed ranks again behind him, and Aranloth, who followed close in his wake.

Spattered by gore, his sword dripping blood, he came to Erlissa. He saw her, lying on the ground, trying to stand. But Gar-galen towered above her. One booted foot pinned down her hand that held the staff. The other rested heavily on her chest.

The elùgroth slipped a black dagger from his cloak. It was a wicked blade: curved, reeking of dark sorcery and filled with ancient malice that even Lanrik sensed. The overwhelming presence of the elùgroth smote him, yet Lanrik did not hesitate. With a single stride he was there.

Gar-galen saw him come. Green light flickered along the wych-wood staff. He pointed it at Lanrik, but the great blade of Conhain cut faster than light. One moment the staff was between them, the next both staff and the severed hand that still gripped it flew to the side.

Gar-galen screamed. Lanrik struck again. This time he stabbed, and the point of the blade drove into the elùgroth. Lanrik did not stop until the very hilt pressed against the sorcerer’s body.

One moment they looked into each other’s eyes. One moment they stood still amid the roiling battle. And then the life went out of Gar-galen. He toppled, and Lanrik withdrew his sword.

Lòhren-fire flared and the other two elùgroths perished in a blast of white fire. The elugs, streaming in through the gate swerved away, but they did not stop coming.

Lanrik looked around. The three of them were caught amid the enemy host. There was no way back whence they came. There was no way forward through the gate. An alley opened to their left, and swiftly Lanrik did what he must. He stooped down and took Erlissa in his arms. He turned to Aranloth, but the lòhren was moving too. He despoiled Gar-galen’s corpse of its black cloak. And then they ran into the narrow lane.

Because of fate, chance, good luck, or perhaps even the enemy’s fear of them, they were not followed.

The noise of battle receded, but the triumphant note of the elug war drums did not.

Lanrik put Erlissa down on her feet and looked in her eyes.

“Are you all right?”

Erlissa rubbed her wrist. “I suppose. Just as well that you came when you did … I never thought to see you again. How you managed to reach me, I just don’t know.”

Aranloth grunted. “He did it with some fine sword work – but mostly he did it by force of will. Few are the men that have slain an elùgroth, Halathrin blade or no.”

“We’ve come a long way together,” Lanrik said. “I wasn’t going to let a handful of the enemy and a pasty-faced sorcerer get between us.” He looked back over his shoulder, but the alley was still empty. “The question is, what do we do now?”

“What will the army do?” Aranloth asked.

“The men will stream from the walls now that the gate is breached. They’ll retreat to Conhain Court. After that …” he shrugged.

Erlissa gave him a weak smile. “They must think you’re dead, you know.”

“Probably,” Aranloth agreed. “And that Conhain’s sword is lost as well. If we’re to give them any sort of hope at all, we must get back as soon as possible.”

Lanrik ran a hand through his hair. “It’ll take a long while though. We’ll have to go by the back streets to avoid the Hainer Lon. The enemy will drive up along its length until they reach the center of the city.”

Aranloth closed his eyes and thought, but not for long.

“That’ll take too much time.”

“Probably, but there’s no other way.”

“There is, though. You said it yourself. The enemy will force their way up the Hainer Lon. That’s the quickest way to where we want to go as well, and we must go with them if we’re not to arrive too late.”

“And how can we possibly do that?”

Aranloth gave no answer. Instead, he flung up the elùgroth cloak and placed it over his shoulders. The dark hood he took, and shadowed his face with it. Tall he stood, and grim; a figure of black menace, yet his staff remained white. But with a crack he stamped its end against the cobbled road. Lòhrengai flared, silvery white. It ran along the staff and leapt like a spark to the cloak, and then it leapt